Breakdown
by Bohemian Storm
Summary: If Lindsey McDonald and the rest of Wolfram & Hart *had* killed Angel, how would Gunn react? Reviews greatly appreciated.


Breakdown  
RATING: R   
  
WARNINGS: Language and violence.   
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them. They belong to Joss Whedon and Co.   
  
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Ashes slid over the toes of his shoes as he walked through the streets downtown. Los Angeles was quiet, dark and full of ashes. They floated in the air, shining silver under the street lamps, piles in the streets were disrupted and moved about by the light wind that blew through the city.   
  
All the ashes belonged to the vampires, something had caused them all to die. They had all gone to hell. And now he stood alone in the empty street, wondering which pile belonged to Angel. Which of the ashes were the remains of his best friend.   
  
He refused to let himself cry. When he had walked into the Hyperion Hotel, Cordelia had been in Wesley's arms, sobbing. Wesley himself has tears coursing down his cheeks. But he refused to cry. He would not cry, because he knew that when Angel's body expired, his soul would finally earn the rest it deserved.   
  
Even though he wouldn't cry, he did curse whoever had done this to the vampires. Even if all the others in the entire city deserved this terrible death, Angel didn't. He didn't deserve to have his end brought on so abruptly and he didn't deserve to have a lawyer from Wolfram and Hart sifting through his ashes later on, like he had no doubt they would.   
  
He sighed as he stared down the empty street to the glass building at the end. Wolfram and Hart. They were the ones that did this to the city, they had found a way to kill all the vampires. They hated the vampires. So they had invested their millions of dollars in finding a way to kill them all.   
  
Because of them, he was now alone.   
  
Cordelia and Wesley didn't want him around anymore. He hadn't been there when Angel had exploded into ash, he hadn't witnessed the silent scream of pain on the face of the vampire with a soul. He hadn't seen any of it and because of that, he couldn't share their pain. He could see it in the tightness of their smiles, in the cold and short answers they had given him when he'd asked what happened.   
  
Because of Wolfram and Hart, he had lost his family.   
  
Again.   
  
It was harder to deal with the second time around. He thought he would have leaned after Alona had died. Why would he let himself get close to anyone again, after his only family had been turned into a vampire? Why would he risk having to kill someone again, just because he loved them?   
  
But he'd taken the risk and once more he'd been hurt.   
  
Because of them.   
  
With a quick decision, he pulled out the gun that he had tucked into his belt and walked swiftly toward the building at the end of the street. He pushed open the heavy glass doors, thankful for a long moment, that the alarms had yet to be activated for the night.   
  
The security guards at the front desk stood up to stop him, but he raised what he held in his hand and they both backed up. He cocked the gun and aimed it at one man's head, glaring angrily over the barrell.   
  
"I need to know where Lindsey McDonald lives." He growled.   
  
"W-we can't give you that information sir." One of the guards spoke up. "If you'd just put the gun down and sit with us for a moment-"   
  
"Stop bull shitting me." He snarled at the guard. "I don't need your friendship and I definitely do not need to sit down with you. Where the fuck does Lindsey McDonald live?"   
  
"Uh, an apartment complex on the corner of third and king street." The other guard said from behind a computer. "Number three twenty one."   
  
"Thank you." He said. "Was that so hard?" Then he turned and marched toward the elevator.   
  
"Uh, s-sir, where are you going?" The first security guard asked.   
  
"To find Holland Manners." He replied, then stepped into the elevator and waited until it reached the seventeenth floor.   
  
When the elevator doors opened, he stepped out and started down the long hall that he knew led the Holland's office. On either side of the hall, about half way down, there were two offices. The door of one was locked, the one that said "Lindsey McDonald" on a gold plate. The other read "Lilah Morgan" and when he tried the door, it opened easily.   
  
She glanced up at him when he came in, surprised at the gun in his hand. Her shock faded quickly and she smiled. "What can I do for you?"   
  
"Were you involved in that?" He asked, gesturing with the gun to the outside world.   
  
Lilah smiled. "All the vampires exploding into ash?"   
  
He smiled back, his eyes cold, then nodded slowly.   
  
"Of course. It was my idea. I mean, if we could find something to get rid of all the vampires, we'd certainly,"   
  
Her explanation was cut off when he squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet into her face. The left side of Lilah's head ripped open, blood and bone splattering on the wall behind her. When her face fell onto her desk, staining the papers red with her blood, he had already turned and was making his way to Holland Manner's office.   
  
The elderly man had already opened his door when he got there.   
  
"What was that?" He asked. "Was that a gun shot? In our building."   
  
He nodded, his hand extended in front of his body. "Yeah, it was my gun. Funny how it didn't seem as loud to me when I was blowing Lilah's brains out."   
  
Holland's eyes widened in shock. "You-you shot Lilah? Jesus Christ, you shot Lilah? What the hell is wrong with you kid? Do you know what you're getting yourself into? Just coming into this building and shooting an employee? You're fucking crazy!"   
  
"No, I think you're the one that's fuckin' crazy." He exclaimed, pushing Holland back into his office. "I'm just temporarily insane, while you're the fucker who should be spending the rest of his goddamned, good for nothing life, rotting in a jail cell as the guards beat the shit out of you every day and turn the other way when some big guy decides to make you his bitch!"   
  
Holland's mouth opened and closed as he struggled to find something to say in response to his outburst. Finally, all that came was, "Why?"   
  
"You see that mess out there?" He asked. "You see all those piles of ash in the streets? Well, one of them happens to be a very good man. He was one of the best people you could have ever hoped to meet. And because of your stupid evil streak or whatever the fuck it is, he's dead now. He left behind people that loved him more than you could ever hope to understand. That's why!"   
  
Holland shook his head. "Angel? Do you mean Angel?" He laughed. "He was a good man in your eyes? He made our lives miserable."   
  
"And did you ever stop to think that maybe that was because you all lived your lives as scum?" He asked. "Every person that works in this building is disgusting and they all deserve to die."   
  
"Who are you to pass judgement on the people in this building?"   
  
He leaned in close. "Who were you to pass judgement on Angel?"   
  
He took a step back, then raised the gun and fired it four times into Holland's chest. The elderly lawyer shook with each bullet that ripped into his body, then fell backward into the floor.   
  
He stared at Holland's body for a long moment, then turned and made his way back toward the elevator. The occasional head poked out from an office as he walked by, but all he had to do was raise his head and look at them and they'd duck back into their sanctuary, wondering why there was a man with a gun walking down their halls.   
  
He left the building without any trouble and began to walk toward the apartment building the security guard had told him about. He didn't have any trouble finding it. How could one have trouble finding something that looked like the residents payed millions of dollars to live there?   
  
*Hell, they probably did pay millions a year, just to stay in such a cushy place.* He thought as he opened the front door, then smashed in the glass door that needed a security code to be opened. He stepped through the shattered glass, cutting his arm in the process. He ignored the pain and found the stairs, heading up to the third floor. The only thing he could think of as he walked, was the burning desire he had to break the toes and fingers of the man that had caused Angel so much pain.   
  
He entered Lindsey's apartment without making any noise and walked to the bedroom. The lawyer was sleeping in his enormous bed, his eyelids fluttering and his throat making deep, growling noise. He watched in amazement as Lindsey slept through his nightmare.   
  
"I-I didn't mean to." The lawyer moaned, tears slipping out from under his eyelids. "I knew he was good, I knew he deserved to live. I tried to stop them but . . ." he trailed off. "Oh God, I never meant for Angel to die. I never meant to cause him so much pain."   
  
He cocked his head as he heard the name of the vampire. He almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. Almost.   
  
Hearing those words made him remember his earlier thoughts. He had wanted to break the fingers of Lindsey McDonald. How did you break the fingers of a man that had no hand?   
  
As he stared at the sleeping man, he wondered what he was really doing there. He had learned at a young age to kick ass. If he sensed someone was going to make him look weak, he had to break them first. But how did you break someone that was already broken? How do you make someone weak, when they were already so weak they were crying in their sleep?   
  
He stared at the gun for a long moment, before throwing it onto the end of the bed. He didn't want to be the one to bring death to the man Angel had wanted to save most. As Lindsey sobbed in his sleep, he bent down and gently brushed the hair off his forehead.   
  
"I understand." He whispered, then turned and left the bedroom.   
  
He was only steps from the doorway when he heard the gun shot and the short wail. Spinning on his heel, he ran back to the bedroom. As he flung open the door, he saw a sight he'd never forget.   
  
Lindsey was leaning against the headboard, blue eyes open, staring accusingly into his brown ones. The smoking gun was lodged under Lindsey's chin, his finger still on the trigger.   
  
End 


End file.
